Through the Haze
by Motive Robot
Summary: Though he could remember nothing else on that rainy day, he still remembered the one person who had helped him through it - even if he hadn't known it at the time.


**Through the Haze**

**A/N:** There aren't any names, but I'm positive you'll know who's who.

**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.

* * *

Dark grey clouds loomed across the sky, dampening an unfortunate city with its endless pouring of rain, and effectively drenching any unlucky wanderer down to their bones. On the eerie, unnaturally deserted road, was a polished black car driving through the relentless rain, seemingly not in a hurry to reach their destination if the fact that it drove almost leisurely through the rain was any indication. However, even the most slowest of strolls have to end, and as the car took a right and parked itself as near - which was, by the way, not near at all - to the building it could with the other cars hogging the other parking spaces, the bright yellow and white lights of the car that shined through the dark of the evening abruptly shut off.

Out came a pale, dark-haired male who snapped the door shut with a faint trace of weariness before trudging through the slight pool of water the encased his feet, ignoring how the liquid lapped at his shoes and made his socks wet with each step. Hair that was carefully made in the morning was now drenched and hung heavily in front of the indifferent man's face, his attire stuck to his figure, the pouring rain slipping through each seam and thread, effectively pulling down on him with the small addition of weight, and his pale skin - almost a sickly color in the rain - has taken to housing several goosebumps in the frigid weather. He, being as aloof as he was, didn't seem to mind the rain.

After all, what's a little rain going to do to him?

The heavy drops of rains that seemed to pound its rhythmic drips and drops into his head suddenly turned into dull thuds; and it was then, when he was brought out of the soothing trance of deafness to the outside world, that he finally became aware of his surroundings. _Cold_, was his first thought as his numb mind, still echoing with the pounding of raindrops, thawed into reality. He was _freezing_, but it was to be expected, moving as slow as he was through the cold temperatures and rough weather that was present.

His second thought was: _The rain stopped suddenly._ Of course, though still unknown to him, this wasn't the slightest bit true. In fact, the storm was raging around like a five-year-old's tantrum when you don't let them stuff themselves with candy during Halloween - except, of course, it was on a much larger scale. The wind felt as though it was blowing from every direction, knocking over trash cans and sending plastic bags into the air every which way until they're lost upon the world in alleyways, caught on a someone's fence, or maybe - though an unlikely event altogether - on some poor sap's face where it'd be clawed off in disgust or annoyance and then at the wind's mercy once again.

The rain _certainly __did not stop. _

But let him think what he believed was reality.

His third thought sounded just as confused as he felt: _Why am I warm?_

A thought such as that would prove very questionable if you were walking in a storm, the insides of your shoes damp with rainwater, and weaving through cars in an unnaturally long parking lot to reach the building where he lived and knew had an available heater; but as he couldn't see and not quite comprehend, he was no longer out and about as Mother Nature's sadistic fury continued to overturn the city into a flooded mess of trash and water.

A few who had come into the lobby as a getaway from the rain and the few who lived here stared at him curiously. His stubbornly slow mind could not place if it was either because he was drenched - and still dripping a thin trail of water as he moved about - or because they've never seen him so out of it before. Even in his dazed state, some conscious part of his mind told him it was neither, but he didn't care enough to find out.

He was used to the stares anyway.

He didn't remember when he'd got himself into the elevator and pressed the button for his floor, or even when he reached into his pocket for the keys to unlock the door to his penthouse. He didn't remember going into his room and peeling off his damp clothing to replace it with his warm sleeping garments, or when he toweled off the rain from his hair. He didn't remember the dull orange umbrella that leaned against his door, casually dripping water onto his floor.

But somehow, in the low, orange glow of the bedside lamp, he remembered being carefully laid down into the soft, welcoming confines of his bed and having the covers pulled over him. He remembered the blonde hair that look almost orange in the lamplight, the blue in the eyes that looked down at him so full of unbidden concern and affection, the tender strokes so foreign to his skin, and the soft voice that resonated so passionately in his mind even after he faded away from consciousness.

"Go to sleep."

The figure stood and turned to leave, but stopped in his tracks as he reached the door, "Oh yeah," he spoke as he craned his neck a bit, "get better soon."

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but seeing as the pale man was already peacefully asleep, he shook his head, smiling warmly as he closed the door.

"Sweet dreams."

Throughout the night he slept, undisturbed, his lips upturned in the barest of smiles.


End file.
